


Quickly Outnumbered

by Pens_and_Portraits



Category: Agent Pendergast Series - Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
Genre: F/F, F/M, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Indiana Jones References, Inspired by Indiana Jones, M/M, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, charming vincent, professor pendergast, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-03 17:52:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17882438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pens_and_Portraits/pseuds/Pens_and_Portraits
Summary: Basically, Indiana Jones but with Harrison Ford's character split into two different people.With a mix of the Pendergast cast and you have trouble.Literally thought of this at like 12 am.





	1. Who Are You?

**Author's Note:**

> So it's been ages since I last did anything on Ao3... My bad.  
> Anyhoot, enjoy some Vincent/Pendergast
> 
> Chapter 2 is in the works.

Vincent D’Agosta; shirt half open, already running hot, crashing through the museum swearing vigorously as he's being chased by men on foot. Luckily they aren't armed with any projectiles so all he has to do is run faster than the fastest one. He initially tried to fist fight some of them before being sucker-punched in the face and then quickly outnumbered. Things quickly got out of hand.

Coming around a corner and through a dog-leg, loot under his arm, he makes his way to the offices of the curators, specifically, one of the well authorized A. Pendergast. He hears the voices approaching fast as he makes a split decision to duck into a room. Thankfully no one is there, and he lowers himself behind the door. He hears the footsteps go by but is curious to find. Another set of footprints. Different ones.

The door opens much to his alarm and he can hear the stampede make there way back. He grabs the mysterious man and hauls him inside before closing the door. He quickly tries to console the now frazzled professor, of whom was currently asking way too many questions and adjusting his glasses. Vincent tries to signal him to be quiet but the footsteps are getting louder now and the professor isn't getting the hint.

Vincent grabs the man by his dark blue suit and shoves him behind the desk. The professor has fallen back on his behind and wasn't expecting the attack and was about to call out when the stranger descended onto him. Vincent puts a hand over the blonde's mouth and puts his finger to his lips. He's practically straddling the professor by now and the two wait in silence. They inadvertently lower closer together as the voices get closer. Pendergast is wondering if his heart is racing because of the trouble or due to the dark-haired, olive-skinned man with his shirt open, currently straddling him. He can't tell which he'd prefer at first. When the man gets impossibly closer, he swears he could feel the man's heart beating as fast as his.

The group pass after a halt outside the office and Vincent dares to lift his head over the desk. Pendergast, immediately thinking that it is a terrible decision for both of them, grabs the stranger by the back of the neck and pulls him back down. A resounding grunt and a pain in the forehead cast another wave of stillness over the two. The voices grew distant and the two men sighed in relief. Pendergast pushed the hand over his mouth away in defiance.

“You could have gotten us both killed.” The professor said with a southern drawl, rubbing his forehead, and wincing slightly.

“Well, nice to meet you too Professor…?” The stranger said with a hint of amusement in his voice.  
To Pendergast, he didn’t sound like he was from any foreign country, in fact, he sounded like he was from New York. Pendergast found that background charming, almost the polar opposite of his own.

“Pendergast. Either just Professor or Mr. Pendergast. I’m not too fond on the alliterative title.”

He heard a rich chuckle run through him and it took a moment to realize that it wasn’t from himself.  
“Not to be rude, but could you remove yourself from my person? You're rather heavy.”

 

Another chuckle, this one displaying smile lines on the man’s tanned features.  
“Aw, Professor, I’m honored. Flustered, and we’ve only just met.”

Pendergast stared wide-eyed up at the man, feeling his face grow warm. He opened his mouth to respond but was promptly beaten to the punch.

“I’m just messing with ya,” And the stranger rose. He stood, checked his belongings before offering a hand to Pendergast. Pendergast took it, wondering why the room felt so cool all of a sudden. “Names, Vincent. Vincent D’Agosta. But you can call me Vinnie.”

 

Hoisted to his feet, Pendergast patted off his pants and suit jacket before replying. “I’d much prefer to stick with professional titles. If its all the same to you.”

The man named Vincent smiled at this too and watched as Pendergast removed his glasses and began cleaning them.

“Alright, Professor. Well, if its all the same to you, I’ll be going. I got a lot of ground to cover.” The man salutes with two fingers and reaches for the satchel on the floor. Pendergast hadn’t noticed it until now but did not miss the way the contents shimmered inside as the opening yawned.

“Wait. What is that?”  
Vincent drew the drawstrings tight but did not answer. He made his way to the door.  
Pendergast, now upset that a thief was trying to rob the place he worked at, stepped in front of him blocking the door. He kept his voice even, contrary to his stomach’s rolling.

“As head curator of the Anthropology department, I demand to know what it is you are hiding.”

“Hiding? I’m not hiding anything”, and the man named Vincent put the satchel behind his back, shrugging and trying to step past Pendergast.

The professor was flabbergasted that the stranger had the gall to play himself like a fool.  
“You very clearly are,” and he reached out towards the bag not letting the man an ounce of room to escape. “So just hand it over, and I’ll tell the police that you were only minorly involved in robbing the museum.”

“Well, now I’m really not gonna give it to you.”  
“So you were planning to hand it over.”  
“No. But if you're gonna bargain with a thief, then you might not want to start off with ‘I’m still reporting you to the authorities’.” The thief smiled, imitating the Professor’s drawl, the two men close once more. Pendergast felt his face grow even warmer.

 

“Ah, so you admit you’re a thief.”  
“I’m an adventurer, which kinda entails the whole thief thing. So, yea I am a thief, but I’m also smart about it.” Vincent shrugged at the last bit.

“And here you’ve just admitted to me what you’ve done. Not very witty or smart of you.” And Pendergast sprang for the bag. He was somehow successful and maneuvered back to the desk.  
To his surprise, Vincent had only turned to him, a look of surprise on his own face.

“You’re quick.”  
Without thinking, Pendergast quickly replied with “I simply know how to get what I want.”  
The phrasing struck the two men, and Pendergast held the bag close to his chest finding the floorboards a much better view for the time being. A pair of worn leather boots came into his view.

He chanced a look up and saw Vincent standing with his arms crossed over his chest. A sheen of sweat clung to him.

“Listen Sunshine-” The adventuring thief began.

“I beg your pardon?”

Vincent pursed his lips for a moment before continuing.  
“I just need the bag. I don’t want to have to do anything rash Professor. Just hand it over.”

 

Vincent unfolded his arms and offered his hand once more. He looked almost like a parent asking a child to hand over something that they stole. The eyes were softer now.  
Pendergast found himself relaxing but quickly tensed up again.

 

“Take a look for yourself then, if you're going to be so stubborn about it.” He said with an air of defeat. He did not want to harm the professor, it might bring even more unwanted attention.  
Pendergast did not draw his eyes away from the man quickly, wondering if he would try and snatch it away from him.

Looking down at the bag itself, he studied it. It was older, beaten around and seemed to have more than a few stitches in it. He opened it with caution and peered in to find what appeared to be an idol of some sort. But it wasn’t made out of gold or silver. Yet it glimmered like any other metal he’d ever seen. No, this idol, he thought, was not at all made out of metal. Or at least the whole of it isn’t. It had been lighter than carrying steel or iron, so his curiosity made his brow furrow.

He adjusted his glasses before tentatively reaching in and taking the idol out. Whatever it was made out of was completely swept from his mind as he gazed on its features. He felt a sense of dread come over him as it depicted some hybridized creature, with large open jaws and long finger-like claws. It struck him finally.  
“Mwbun. How… Where did you find this?” His eyes roamed over the veins of color on the idol.

Vincent did not answer right away, a serious expression crossed his face as he moved closer and leaned on the desk, looking over Pendergast’s shoulder.

“I’ve been following that idol for months. Went MIA for quite a while before I picked up its scent in Brazil.”

Pendergast, brows still furrowed, looked from the idol to Vincent. He wasn’t joking anymore.  
“Do you, have any idea what this idol has done to people?” A note of severity in his honeyed voice.

“I know exactly what that thing is capable of. It’s brought death to everyone that it meets. And soon, the curse will catch up to it. It’ll bring hell to this quiet museum and tear it apart.”

“So what did you intend to do? Robin Hood it away and hand it over to someone deserving of hell on earth? Or maybe,” and Pendergast turned his body toward him, “you were planning to sell it to the highest bidder. Make it a weapon of war.”

 

Vincent rose his hands in defeat though he could not deny a tinge of pride at being compared to the fictitious literary thief.  
“If you believe in curses, then you’ve caught me.”  
“Mr. D’Agosta, I believe that there are things that we cannot explain. But I do not believe in curses.”

Time seemed to slow at these words.  
A look of doubt crossed over the thief, and he stepped ever closer. Silently, he drew up the fabric around the idol as Pendergast held it and pulled the drawstring tight.  
“I for one, believe in them.”

Gingerly, Pendergast felt the weight of the bag lift as Vincent took the idol away from him. He couldn’t just let him get away, right? He had to stop him. He had to report him. But what if… What if it's true? That there is a curse. And that so many people, so many innocent people would get hurt? And here he was spiriting it away.

With a solemn smile, Vincent slowly made his retreat, and Pendergast could do nothing but stare. He was glued to the spot and couldn’t even utter a word. Vincent opened the door to the office, turned and saluted once more.

 

“Goodbye, Mr. Pendergast.”

Pendergast could not call out after him.

Then the thief was gone.


	2. Ransacked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Crawls out of my den of a room:* My offering to you!

Professor Aloysius Pendergast stood at the head of the lecture hall classroom, chalk in hand as he wrote out the next assignment. The students were to choose an artifact from the conjoining museum, and write a letter to someone at home as if they had just discovered it. Or choose the true discoverer and write a letter to someone at home. It was a fairly simple assignment and the professor had to admit that he found it easier to grade this way. Creative, but it would weed out those who did not do the assignment or falsified information about the artifact. The professor had found himself more than once mentally patting himself on the back for being able to recite every background of each cataloged relic in the museum.    
Murmurs carried around the room as he wrote.

 

“Um, professor?” A high voice called out from the steep stands of the lecture hall. Pendergast did not turn around, hand flourishing an “i” as he spoke.

 

“Yes, Miss. Swanson?”

He was able to recognize most of his student's voices and is always keen to call someone out for talking while he was teaching. It was, in its own way, an intimidation technique brought on only by Pendergast’s fortune of having excellent hearing.

 

The young woman paused, carefully choosing her next words.   
“Why did you write ‘Mwbun’ as an example? Didn’t the thing go missing?”   
  


The murmuring died down. Pendergast stopped and looked up at his chalked writing. He had, without thought written it out on the board.   
  
“Miss Swanson, I believe the term you are looking for is ‘idol’. And yes, Mwbun has been missing for over 2 weeks now.” His mind searched for an excuse as he himself did not know why he put the name on the board. In an instant, he turned around and scanned his classroom.   
  


“Dear Miss. Green,” 

 

He began, now shifting so that he was behind his desk, placing his hands on the edge as he continued.

 

“I’ve made a terrible mistake. I should never have come to the Amazon. In my haste in searching the long gone Kathoga tribe, I have neglected to see the true horror hiding in the underbrush. The howler monkeys, they scream at night and my group and I were fools to ignore the one just outside our camp. One of my guides is gone, I am even more upset to say that I do not remember his name. We’ve lost valuable supplies but I feel as though I am so very close to unraveling this lands darkest secrets. I’ve got the idol. I told you I’d find it. The old tribe woman warned me and pointed to a low sinking hut. I’m still not sure what she was so afraid of. It's beautiful.    
All those doubts at the museum will finally be gone. Now I’ll be the one laughing. 

Oh, but the branches they snap at night. And I can hear the sound of men just outside the light of the fire. Crocker is gone. I must go find him. I’ve packed away the idol in some plants and am having Carlos carry the crate on his back. A good man he is, hard worker. I’ll send him upstream, up the Xingu river, have the crate be ready to ship in a matter of days while I go search for Crocker. 

I know he would do the same for me.

We will meet soon,

 

Signed,    
Dr. Julian Whittlesey”

 

The class seemed to let out a collective breath, as the Professor finished his letter. His tone reading as if he were reciting a play to an audience. They all appeared to be at the edge of their seat, even those who weren’t paying attention were now listening with intent. The aforementioned Miss Green was sitting in her seat, slightly uncomfortable for being used for an example, but didn’t speak a word.   
Pendergast had successfully deflected the questioning Corrie Swanson.   
  
“Now,” He began again, “not much is known about the Whittesley expedition. We only have second-hand information given to us the Brazilian government, and even then its information is shaky at best. Given the idol has such a brief background, at least to our known knowledge, I used it as an example. You, however,” And he scanned over the room once more, “will all have to choose one with at  _ least _ 5 sources of information for full credit.”   
  
A tampered groan was heard through the hall and Pendergast resisted a smile tugging at his lips. Before anyone else could speak, the bell had rung down the hall and the shuffling of belongings was heard.    
“If you have any more questions, please see me after class. Otherwise, I will be posting the final criteria for your assignment on the bulletin board.”   
  
They filed out, one by one, some saying goodbye while others taking off for a late lunch. He curtly dismissed them with a nod and a “have a good day”. Pendergast sat down in his chair and took off his glasses. He rested them on the desk and rubbed his temples. He was mentally kicking himself over his error. The would-be criminal was still stuck on his mind and this had been perhaps the third time he’d caught himself during class thinking about him and that damnable relic. 

 

Why had he let him go? He was obviously just a crook. 

Why had he fallen for his trick? 

Maybe it was those dark brown eyes and the way he talked, low and soft. 

  
Pendergast brought a fist down on the table, breaking his train of thought. It was derailing again. Suppressing a growing groan at the back of his throat, he shifted his papers around and began packing for lunch. He had one more class in the afternoon and somehow the class ended up a couple of days ahead of schedule. It was mostly in part to the class being only a handful of students as well as housing some of the fastest writers Pendergast had ever met. Unfortunately, their collective grades did not reflect as kindly on them.

 

After sorting through his papers and making sure to lock up the hall behind him, Pendergast made his way halfway across campus to a small coffee shop. He never ate too much for lunch, partly to the fact that he wasn’t hungry, and even if he was he knew he would always be interrupted by a student with questions. If he were any other professor he would turn the student away asking them to visit during office hours, but Pendergast let them ask any questions they may have.

Ordering a shot of espresso and a pastry to snack on, he took his seat at the far corner of the cafe. By the window where he began grading papers and enjoying the soft bustle of the cafe. Halfway through grading an assignment a presence came from behind him, staring at his form but without a word.   
  
“It's rude to stare”, he said in a stern, clear voice, setting down his pen and waiting for the student to respond.   
  
“Professor Aloysius Pendergast?”   
  
Pendergast turned to find a man, taller and built larger than he was, standing just within arms reach of him. He had a square jaw and a face that was lined with both age and anger.   
  
“Yes.” He said with a tentative but curious inflection. Can I help you?”   
  
The man took a moment as if to think about what he should say next.   
  
“Come with me” was all he managed before a massive hand grabbed his shoulder and practically hoisted him out of the chair. Pendergast stumbled with a start, his legs tangled on the leg of the chair.

 

Dragged out his favorite cafe’s doors, was not how Pendergast had envisioned his afternoon- and as he struggled against the larger man, he felt the eyes of the people around him look in worry. They gasped and gawked at the scene before them. He called out to them, but no one seemed to do anything. Too shocked, or worse. Perhaps they thought he was in trouble with the law. He was a good person. He hadn’t even been pulled over for a speeding ticket.    
  
The professor strained against the hand on his shoulder, finding the larger man annoyed by his refusal. The giant had grabbed him by the arm and twisted it behind his back. He grunted in pain as the man threatened to break his arm.   
“I’m walking, I’m walking.” He said through gritted teeth.   
  
The two cut through the parking lot nearby and shoved Pendergast into a black car. His kidnapper slammed the door behind him and Pendergast went to bang on the glass. He found the door locked with a ‘shunk’ and then a click. The sound of the hammer of a gun being drawn back. He froze when the weapon was pressed into his back. He had neglected, in his fear and shock, to register that there was another man in the car with them.   
One man drove, while the other spoke to him in gruff tones.   
  
“You’ll be dead before you hit the pavement.” Said the man with the gun and Pendergast could only slowly retreat into the back cushion of the leather seat. He gaped, wondering how he was to going to get out of this situation.

  
“You, you can’t shoot me.” The quaver in his voice made it less convincing. Even he knew that.   
  
“And why is that?”   
  
“B-because, you need me. It's obvious.” He quirked a smile. “If you didn’t need me, you’d have shot me by-”   
  
“Care to test that theory Doctor?” The man nudged the gun closer to his head.   
  
Pendergast swallowed a hard lump in his throat, his skin damps with sweat now. He set himself with the task of drawing his handkerchief from his pocket and cleaning his glasses. His hands shook tremendously and he swore under his breath.     
  
The car cruised down the street, further and further away from the campus. He saw out of the corner of his eye the man with the gun, now muttering into a phone. 

 

Pendergast chanced a glance out the window, watching the streets go by, and he soon recognized where they were. They were driving in the direction of his house. He didn’t have to worry for long what was waiting for him as they pulled into his driveway. He lived in a small townhouse, just on the outskirts of the downtown district. It wasn’t big, or fancy, it was cluttered with dusty books and trinkets, objects from times long ago.

  
He was shoved out of the car, as gracefully as he was shoved into it. With a gun at his heels, Pendergast was escorted into his house, of which he noticed that the door had been cracked by the lock and broken into. His home, once messily organized was torn apart. Tables and bookshelves were turned over, papers and artifacts were cast to the floor, glass littered everywhere. He stood stunned in his main hall and rushed through each room, everything was ransacked. When he came to the living room he found a man sitting in his chair by the fireplace. The stranger was older, with a square jaw and an air of military status about him. He had apparently helped himself to a glass of port from Pendergast cabinet. He had been saving it for a special occasion.   
The stranger did not rise out of his seat, he only gestured for Pendergast to sit down in the chair across from him. Pendergast complied, as the two men stood behind him, on either side. There was no chance for him to escape.   
  
“Dr. Pendergast,” The stranger spoke in an accent Pendergast couldn’t quite pin. “So good to meet you again.” It sounded like a mix, but he could decipher a hint of a Norwegian dialect in his sentences. But he did recognize the man now. He had met him at a gathering at the museum during the last exhibition:  _ Superstition _   
  
But Pendergast said nothing.   
  
“Ah, but where are my manners, my name is Ian Cuthbert. I’m the deputy head of the Museum, I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”   
  
Pendergast still gave no response.   
  
“I’ve written many books about the museum and the anthropology department?” Cuthbert said with a questioning tone as if he needed to remind Pendergast of who he was and his successes in life. “I’ve shaken hands with the Mayor, and the Governor and the head of State? Won multiple grants and awards in-”   
  
Pendergast cut him off.   
  
“Mr. Cuthbert, I know who you are.”    
  
“That’s Dr. Cuthbert to you.”   
  
“I don’t recall you ever finished your doctorate, Mr. Cuthbert. I could have sworn you stopped your education around the 8-year mark. And as of recently, your clearly falsified documentation of your ‘doctorate’ has come into question about its legitimacy.” Wherever this confidence had come from, Pendergast did not know, but he was certain it had to do with the sense of betrayal in his gut    
  
Cuthbert himself choked a bit on his words as his face grew red. Then it suddenly drew tight as he took another sip of his drink.

“I’ll just cut to the point then since you seem to be in a bad mood. I need you to tell me where the idol is.”

 

Pendergast’s eyebrows rose. “I’m sorry?”   
  
“Tell me, where the idol is. Mwbun. I know you had it. I know you encountered it. We couldn’t find it in your house or office, so you must be hiding it elsewhere.”   
  
Pendergast was baffled by this. This man had broken into his home, set up camp essentially and wrecked his work all for some figurine. He felts his hand's ball into fists the more he thought of it.   
  
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”   
  
Ian clearly did not like this answer.   
“You met a man 2 weeks ago, by the name of Vincent D’Agosta. He’s a crook and a liar, he’s wanted for three counts of grand theft of cultural artifacts, reckless endangerment, and murder.” The emphasis on the murder made Pendergast’s blood run cold. He couldn’t believe it. He thought the man was just a thief, a swindler, and a gullible idiot. Not. Not a killer. Yet, for as much as it unsettled him, a small part of Pendergast thought otherwise.    
  
“I’ve never met such a man in my life. You break into my office,  _ my home, _ and then accuse me of robbing the museum? What gives you the right to-”   
  


Cuthbert nodded to one of the men and Pendergast was cut short with a blow to the head. It didn’t knock him out but it damn near threw him out of the chair and made his head spin.

 

“I have every right to do whatever I see fit right now. You see, Mr. Pendergast, I am in possession of some concrete evidence against you. An eyewitness spotted D’Agosta and you conspiring in one of the offices. You were even seen leaving empty handed not 10 minutes later after D’Agosta was seen getting away. You not only helped this man, but  _ you _ let him get away with museum property on  _ your _ watch.  _ You _ didn’t call the police,  _ and you _ didn’t even make a statement when they came. You're just as bad as he is.” Cuthbert shook his head in disapproval.   
  
Pendergast, holding his head in his hands hunched forward, half in pain, half trying to focus on the man’s words. He couldn’t utter a coherent sentence even if he tried. His vision spotted, focused, then spotted again.   
  
Cuthbert leaned forward in his chair.    
  
“From where I’m sitting Professor, I’d recommend you cooperate, or else we’ll have to leak that information to the police.”   
  
Pendergast looked up at the man, glaring.

  
“I don’t know, where he went. He took it with him.”

Cuthbert nodded again and another blow to the head. Pendergast grunted in pain.   
  
“You better not be bullshitting me.”   
  
“I’m not, I’m telling the truth. I let him get away, but I don’t know where he went with it. He mentioned about losing its trail in Brazil.”   
  
Cuthbert still didn’t seem satisfied with this answer, but he leaned back in his chair. Without warning, another blow struck Pendergast. His vision began slowing and his world was becoming darker.   
  
“Fine. Then you're coming with us to find him. Your ‘expertise’ and background might be of some use. Pack your things.” And with a wave of his hand, Cuthbert dismissed him.    
  
Pendergast was lifted out of the chair once more and was practically dragged to his room where he was forced to pack a change of clothes, some books, and other items that might be important to his studies. Or rather, what looked important to the brutes as Pendergast could barely stand, nevermind pack. They threw things together and into a bag or two as he was taken back through his house and out the front door. Pendergast felt his head lull to the side as he kept forcing his eyes open. The brutes put him back in the car with his bags and Pendergast found his world gone dark. He hoped to wake up from the nightmare he was in.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I miss anything? I type faster than I can think sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> Any spelling/grammatical errors? Let me know.  
> (I only read this once or twice over and am about as blind as a bat)


End file.
